Artanis of Tirion
by Alcarinquellin
Summary: Before she was Galadriel the Wise, Lady of the Golden Wood, she was Artanis, the mischevious little sister of Finrod. Years of experience molded her into the Elf Lady the Fellowship met in Lothlórien, but how much pain and mistakes went into the serene Galadriel the Third Age knew?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Yes, Dawn is back after a year. Note that I will soon be changing my pen name. My apologies if you happen to be a reader of any of my incomplete stories belonging to other fandoms; they will probably be deleted soon. All my inspiration is now devoted to the Tolkien Legendarium. **

**Disclaimer: Eldamar, Tirion, Artanis and her family, and all other recognizable settings and characters belong to Tolkien and his heirs. Nothing except enjoyment was was profited from writing this story.**

* * *

**Artanis of Tirion**

Artanis was a thoughtful child. She preferred the silence of the trees and flowers, yet was spirited in argument. Oh, how she simply adored arguments.

It was in the middle of an argument that dawn found the young elleth one day. Artanis was leaning in the doorway of her brother's room, arms crossed and eyes sparkling with amusement and anticipation.

"But Ata specifically told me to bring you to breakfast," she stated. Anyone who didn't know her would've said she was completely calm, but if one knew what they were looking for, they would've seen the special passionate gleam in her eyes.

"Artanis, please. Let me finish this passage." A tall, blond Elf sat in a desk chair with a thick book held loosely in his hands. "I will even write a poem for you if you wait just for a moment."

In truth, Artanis was a naturally patient Elf, and wouldn't have minded waiting, if it meant that she wouldn't lose this argument. She did love poetry, though, especially her brother's. But that would mean letting him win, and she would never allow that to happen, for Artanis was also extraordinarily stubborn.

"Finrod, Ata says to come," she pressed. "Ammë's made your favorite meal..." She trailed off, hoping to lure Finrod out of his room. Actually, Eärwen had prepared only part of his favorite meal—the berry sauce part—but who said Finrod needed to know that? _A lie is always more believable when there is a seed of truth in it_, Artanis reminded herself. No one had told her that. Indeed, the Elfling had discovered and come to that conclusion herself.

Finrod smiled wryly. "If you insist, Artanis."

"I do."

"Then I shall come," he declared. "I might even write you a poem anyway, if I am in the mood."

o0o

"Artanis, there is no cranberry soaked Elven-bread on my plate."

The Elfling rolled her eyes. "You actually fell for that?" She did her best to ignore Finarfin's and Eärwen's inquisitive glances.

"Never," Finrod amended. "I had simply hoped. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?"

"I suppose not," Artanis murmured, pondering on this for a moment. But then Aegnor made a joke and changed the subject, carrying the family's conversation elsewhere.

Artanis loved her family dearly. Her ata, Finarfin son of Finwë, had a kind and noble spirit. He would often take Artanis on her mare Tinwelótë and ride through the broad streets of Tirion. Eärwen, Artanis's ammë, taught Artanis herbs and cooking, while also touching on embroidery though the Elfling did not enjoy it much.

The twins Angrod and Aegnor both teased and loved Artanis. Yes, they would mess with her hair and possessions (though only the insignificant ones), and tease her mercilessly, but their little sister would ever hold their hearts.

Yet, in and out of the household, Finrod was still Artanis's favorite person in the world. He was gentle and aggravating at the same time, and shared his younger sister's passion for verbal and casual conflicts. He was a master of blade where Artanis was mistress of thought, and also an impressive singer even in the regards of the Eldar. Artanis would often attempt to sing like her brother, and always ended up as a giggling heap.

Nérwen, her mother had named her, Man-woman, in her foresight. Artanis often wondered at this, but never dwelt on it too long, for she knew that there would be a day when she would understand. Artanis was patient. She could wait for that day.

o0o

"Come swiftly, Findaráto," Artanis cried.

"And to think my sister was patient." The eldest of Finarfin's children grumbled in mock contempt.

Never to miss a beat, Artanis snorted in a very unladylike way that would make Eärwen frown. "It is Tinwelótë that grows antsy. Atar would never dare to make her wait this long after promising a ride."

"I apologize, Lady Tinwelótë," Finrod muttered, bowing before the grey mare dappled white. "Please, forgive my sins."

As he mounted his own Elven gelding, Náramacil, Artanis attained a sly smirk. When Finrod was just gaining his balance atop Nára, she shoved him lightly, almost toppling her brother from his mount. Finrod laughed and pushed her lightly back.

Into Tirion they rode, two horses abreast on a road, laughing and nearly oblivious to all else. The townspeople smiled at them and waved as they rode by, for they were fond of the children of charming Finarfin.

Tinwë and Nára enjoyed their freedom as much as their riders. They tossed their heads in the wind and snorted at some of their favorite vendors. Tinwë was even exuberant enough to almost follow a butterfly off the main road, Mallë Eldaiva.

"Easy, Tinwë," Artanis cautioned, stroking her mare's head. "No butterfly catching today."

The two Elves soon arrived at their intended destination, for indeed they as come with a purpose. They halted their horses outside of the smithery and, trusting their mounts not to wander, strode quickly inside.

There the silversmith, Macilion, greeted them heartily. Macilion they called him, an epessë, for he was gifted in sword crafting and would spend days honing a blade to what he considered worthy of use.

"Your father sent you, did he not?" Macilion asked, a glint of laughter in his blue eyes.

"Indeed," Finrod confirmed. "We are here to request a sword for Artanis here." Artanis smiled shyly. She didn't know Macilion very well, and she liked to avoid interactions with strangers and close-strangers alike.

"Very good, Miss Artanis," Macilion said, rubbing his hands together. "What hilt design suits you best?"

Finrod and Artanis followed the silversmith into a back room containing only finely crafted swords and daggers. Intracite patterns adorned the hilts and blades themselves, causing the daughter of Finarfin to gape in awe. One blade with a vine and leaf pattern drew her attention at first, but then her gaze drifted to a dagger with leaves on the hilt which eventually melted into a flighted dove on the blade.

"I like that one," she managed to say through her shyness.

Macilion grinned. "As do I, nessima quen. Shall I magnify it to fit our purpose?"

"Yes please, sir." Artanis nodded.

Macilion ruffled her golden haired and sent them on their way, telling them to pick the sword up in a week or so. On the way home, the two young Elves picked up some pastries and treats for the horses with spare coins Finrod had the sense to being along. They would pay Macilion once the sword was presented.

"You will have to name you sword, you know," Finrod reminded his sister through a mouthful of blueberry-mint pastry.

"I know," Artanis said steadily. She turned and glowered at her brother. "And chew with your mouth closed."

He sighed dramatically and pulled on an exaggerated abashed expression. "I am very sorry, Ammë," he said.

Artanis laughed. How would she possibly live without her brother?


	2. Wherever You Go

**Artanis of Tirion2**

**A****/N Greetings from Dawn. I still haven't come up with a name, but I am working on. I shall try to update on a regular weekly basis, but hopefully earlier sometimes. Forgive me if a chapter is late; life can be demanding at times. Thanks to fantasychica37 for reviewing. I won't be changing any of the Sindarin names to their father names, but all future characters from the canon will be known by their names on Valinor. Feedback is welcome and appreciated, but mostly I wish for you to enjoy.**

* * *

"Is my daughter going to be a warrior princess?" Eärwen smiled when Finrod and Artanis burst into the house, though there was a distant look in her eyes. She took the basket of pastries from her eldest son.

Artanis shrugged. "Maybe," she said. "Mr. Macilion says to come back in about a week." A week. The time span seemed so long now! There were still seven achingly long days until she could join swordsmanship training with her brothers. I can be patient, Artanis reminded herself, biting down her sudden eagerness.

"Where is Atar?" Finrod asked, hopping up onto the kitchen counters, earning himself a glare from Eärwen. He sheepishly dropped down.

"Your atar is our hunting with your brothers," Eärwen told them. "He asks you to begin crafting some new floor traps."

Finrod bowed his head slightly and made to leave, grabbing an apple on the way out.

"Can I help?" Artanis asked her mother, bouncing on her heels. "Please, Ammë?"

Eärwen sighed as she stacked the last of the clean dishes. "I was going to teach you a new embroidery pattern." She saw her daughter's face fall. "However, I also decided it was time for you to learn something useful."

Artanis tipped her head to the side, curious. "Useful how, Ammë?" She couldn't help but picture bows and arrows, armor, and shields. Her mother surely wasn't skilled in those crafts, was she?

"I'm going to teach you how to make a saddlebag."

Artanis's face fell.

o0o

The sky was growing dim when Artanis finally managed to flee from the saddlebag lesson. Her fingers hurt from gripping utensils so tightly, and her head throbbed from concentrating on concentrating. She knew what her father would say. _Focus must come effortlessly._

Finarfin, Finrod, Angrod, and Aegnor were at the dining table when Artanis entered the room.

"How was saddlebag making?" Aegnor asked, snickering.

"Fine, thank you," Artanis replied coolly, refusing to rise to his bait. She took her seat to the left of Finrod and the right of Finarfin. "How was hunting?" she asked.

Angrod smirked. "I caught more rabbits than Aegnor," he crowed, leaning back in his chair.

The younger twin rolled his eyes and snorted. "That's because he shot two rabbits and I brought down one. I killed more squirrels than he did." He ducked a clumsy blow from his brother.

"I don't think that my sons should be traipsing about the woods when we could just slaughter livestock," Eärwen said, catching the topic as she stepped into the room.

"Ammë, we can't grow close to animals just to eat them for dinner," Artanis cried. "If we milked cows everyday and then speared them for flesh..." She trailed off, briefly living in the horror she was describing "No. I cannot do that."

"I agree with Artanis," Finrod said quietly.

Five pairs of eyes swung to gaze at Eärwen, who seemed tired and nearly defeated. "What do you think, meldanya?"

Finarfin shrugged. "I think that we can continue to hunt," he said bluntly. "Don't worry, love," he reassured his glowering wife, smiling. "We won't endanger the wildlife."

"You'd better not," Eärwen muttered. She went over and planted a kiss on her husband's lips before parting into the kitchen. Artanis cringed and looked away, sending Finrod and the twins to the brink of laughter.

"What, you don't want to get married?" Finrod inquired playfully. Artanis frowned. There was longing in her older brother's eyes. She wasn't entirely certain what emotion she saw in them, or whether she liked it or not. But soon the moment was passed, and she couldn't extract anything extra from his gaze any longer.

"No," she said, unconsciously crossing her arms, the motion that showed her coming to a conclusion. "I don't want children. If they're like you, they'd be a lot of work."

Angrod snorted and covered his hand with his mouth.

"Children," Finarfin warned, though there was an amused spark audible in his voice. "Let's be kind to each other, shall we?"

"Atar," Aegnor said, confusion clouding his face. "What's for dinner? Ammë was making saddlebags and we were hunting, so who made supper?"

Artanis shrugged. "Who cares?" she mumbled. She glanced out the window at the shadows of pine trees crawling cross the grassy earth.

With a start, she realized she hadn't been among the trees by herself that day, not once. The air in the room, although the house had a high roof, felt stuffy and tight. Her face itched from the heat, and her muscles twitched restlessly. Now she could practically feel the tug of the trees as the wind whistled through their boughs. "Atar, if I may?"

Finarfin smiled at her. "Of course, little Artanis. We will call you for dinner."

I am not little, Artanis thought defiantly. She stalked through the door, into the chilling breeze that blew from the east.

The wind cooled her agitated soul, caressing her forehead which gleamed with sweat. Artanis shed her leather boots on the step of her family's country house near the edge of Túna, and stepped upon the grass that tickled her feet. The ends of her mouth twitched into a relieved smile.

The trees beckoned to her, promising to share their secrets. Artanis happily gave in, treading the ground with almost nonexistent footsteps. She broke into a swift run, her toes barely touching the ground, laughing in her delight. The night wind played with her golden locks, making them dance around her joyful face. The stars twinkled overhead.

The tree roots and vines appeared to curl out of the way of the young vendë, keeping from harming her in her oblivion. Artanis wasn't bothered by the pine needles and pebbles that carpeted the forest floor. They were old friends.

Artanis followed an invisible path, brushing the bark of her favorite trees, though they were barely distinguishable from their neighboring brethren. Occasionally, a leafy branch would bend down and bounce atop her golden crown. She lifted her face into the quiet and pine scented air.

After a while, the music of burbling water met Artanis's keen ears. If possible, her smile broadened even further. "We are almost there, you naughty daughter of Finarfin," she whispered to herself.

A starlit clearing opened before her. The stream became visible at the far side of the glade, singing the unique melody of water. The trees changed abruptly as well. The common maple, pine and oak trees slowly vanished to be replaced by trees resembling birches, only much thicker and taller. Some of the younger looking ones bore leaves with silver undersides and brilliant golden blossoms. The taller trees had silvery bark and golden leaves, like a summer sunset. The same colored leaves embellished the floor of the grassy clearing.

Artanis had reached the Glade of Malinori.

Her light steps left the grass undamaged as she crossed to the small stream. At times when there had not been rain for weeks, the stream could almost be considered a creek. Tonight, however, the water was almost overflowing from the recent thunderstorm. The moss sprung under her toes releasing moisture. Artanis took her favored position on the smooth silver rock that sat on the banks of the stream, uncaring if her trousers were dirtied.

Artanis shivered with happiness, rejoicing when she had only the stars and malinorni for witness. She couldn't explain it—somehow, she was most joyful in this place. Perhaps she was the most herself.

_ "The stars of Varda are a-glittering._

_ Smiling and gracing the face of the world_

_ With the Valië Queen's kindness._

_ Ever beyond reach of the Kindreds,_

_ The stars will always be untouched_

_ By shadows of sins."_

The song was not a well-known one. Indeed, only the close members of Artanis's family knew the lyrics, for Finrod himself had composed them. Artanis did not recall how he had come upon the inspiration, though she was almost positive her eldest brother had told her some time ago. Nonetheless, Artanis loved the haunting words of foreshadowing, hinting that while the Eldar suffered from their own wrongdoings, the stars would forever remain pure and whole.

For once, her voice had echoed surprisingly well. Artanis noticed this and blinked. Even in her criticizing head her singing had sounded almost as nice as Finrod's, like Elven-bells blowing in a sea breeze.

The sea. That was another thing that Artanis longed for. The crashing of the waves, the strong scent of salt. Finarfin had once taken her there when she was very young, and she remembered only positive events. Her mother lifting her above the waves and swinging her in a circle. The twins, dunking her underwater and splashing salty water in her eyes. Finrod, mumbling poetry under his breath about the ocean.

What was beyond the ocean waters?

Finrod told her stories of the world across the waters, an imperfect land tainted by the hands of darkness. Supposedly the Secondborn would awaken there. "But before that land," he had said, "lies Tol Eressëa." Then he had launched into the tale of the Teleri forsaking Middle-earth at the sorrow of Ossë.

Artanis smiled wistfully. Perhaps there was more value in that thick book than she credited it for.

o0o

The lanterns hanging from the roof of her family's country house came into view as Artanis emerged from the woods. The house had drawn her home by speaking to her stomach, causing it to complain of hunger. Nne of her brothers would have to come searching for her tonight. She slipped her boots back on and entered the house quietly.

"Artanis," her atar nodded to her. Everyone was just settling down for dinner. Eärwen appeared, holding a stew containing one of Angrod's rabbits. Once his wife had taken her seat and the stew had been distributed, he cleared his throat.

"Yes, Atar?" Angrod asked cheekily. No one took any notice of him.

"I have been summoned by my brother, Nolofinwë, to return to the townhouse and will be leaving on the morn," he said, glancing at Eärwen, who was frowning. "I also believe that Artanis is of age to accompany me, if she so desires."

Finrod turned to her, grinning. "Will you come with us, Artanis?" he asked, a glint of merriment in his eyes. "I will follow Atar as his oldest son and heir."

Artanis stuck her chin out boldly despite her mother's challenging stare that she had no trouble sensing. "I will go with you, Finrod. You know that I shall always go where you go."

Her oldest brother leaned towards her and squeezed her slim shoulder. "We shall see, little sister, we shall see."


	3. A Dream of Darkness

**A/N This is Chapter 3, titled "A Dream of Darkness". **

_She was alone in the Glade of Malinorni, crouched on her rock near the stream. Darkness had fallen again, though it was not truly dark, for Telperion's smallest tendrils still managed to worm their way in on certain nights. The woods were quiet. _

_ Artanis frowned. The woods were quiet, and real quietness was quite foreign to her. Around Elves, there was always the sound of a fire crackling, laughter, singing, harping, needles clicking. In the woods it was different, for the land of trees brimmed with life as well. But now, no birds sang. No leaves rustled in the treetops. Even the trees were silent. The woodland air seemed to be still, as if waiting for something. _

_ Then, as if they had too been waiting, dozens of shadowy figures poured out of he tree line. They were tall and short, skinny and fat, and their skin ranged from grey to pale green. Artanis watched this from her crouched position, as if frozen in time._

_ Their eyes were an unfeeling yellow, their lips were curled back in an ugly snarl. In their calloused hands were crude blades of silver, but nothing like Macilion was known for making. They didn't gleam in the starlight, for indeed, as Artanis glanced upwards, there were no stars winking at her tonight. _

_ As the first of these nasty creatures neared her, Artanis snapped out of her trance. She grabbed the nearest object on the rock next to her and swung out, just as the malicious creature was about to run her through. _

_ Metal met metal, sending a jolt through Artanis's arms, causing her to gasp. She managed to maintain her grasp on the sword in her own hands, though. A sword, she realized, biting her lip. I am holding a sword. _

_ The dark creature charged again, raising his sword above his head. As if acting as a puppet on strings, Artanis sidestepped her opponent and made to slice his throat. She hesitated for just a moment though, and the other was soon invulnerable again. Artanis gulped, telling herself that one of them had to die. Right before she confronted the darker one, she felt an impact on the back of her head and saw the rock coming at an alarmingly fast pace. Then everything was black. _

* * *

It was Finrod who woke her the next morning, shaking her gently by her shoulders. Artanis's eyes shot fully open as she was yanked from her dream world.

"Artanis, we're leaving soon. Ammë won't be willing to send either of the twins with you later, although I might ride back for you." Finrod brushed the hair from her face, studying her straight expression. "Are you well, little sister?"

Artanis blinked, shedding the last tendrils of evil from her mind. It was only a dream, she tried to convince herself. For some reason, she didn't believe that she had experienced a mere nightmare. There was something darker about what she had seen.

"I'm fine," she whispered. She forced a smile when Finrod kept frowning. "Truly, all is well. Begone now, so I can dress."

"Very well, Artanis," Finrod said, kissing her between her eyebrows. "We leave very shortly."

"I know," she replied, batting him away, smiling for real now. "You've only told me a thousand times."

Artanis threw on a tunic and leggings. She attempted braiding her hair, but her fingers were never very happy when doing delicate work like this. Usually Eärwen did her hair. Giving up, Artanis collected her essential possessions and stuffed them in a sloppily made saddlebag she had worked on the day before.

There were her wooden carving projects, like the half whittled flute she was almost done with. She planned to give it to Finrod on his begetting day. She also stuffed in a few books on poetry and history. Then there was her gem necklace. The accessory was one of the brilliant stones mined from the ground of Valinor on a simple string. Eärwen had given it to her years ago for no reason except for that she loved her. The gem necklace was the only piece of jewelry that Artanis wore.

Then, as if as an afterthought, Artanis brought along her sewing kit.

The country house wasn't far from Tirion, but the trip on horseback was long enough to allow Artanis to think.

Tinwelótë's trot was steady, setting a decent pace for daydreaming. Artanis hadn't forgotten the supposed nightmare like she usually forgot dreams. She could still vividly picture the strange creatures that looked a lot like Elves, only twisted into gruesome monsters. She shuddered, having a sudden thought. What if those... those things... were evil Elves?

That brought her to the second question that was floating around her head. She had never in her life seen a sword be used. Her brothers sparred with them, and Macilion enjoyed them for making. But what was the true purpose of the lively swords? The swords of the dark creatures were not beautiful. In fact, they almost had an evil taint to them.

What would unfeeling, heartless beings like the ones in her nightmare do with a sword? The answer came surprisingly easily to her: they would use a sword to destroy everything and everyone that stood in their path.

Artanis was baffled, and that was an unwelcome emotion to her.

There was no enemy in Valinor, or so her parents had told her. Her mother was a princess of the Teleri, and she would know, wouldn't she? Her father was a son of Finwë, King of the Noldor. Her family would be alerted of a danger.

"What are you thinking about, Artanis?" Finrod sounded concerned.

"Nothing. Nothing important," she assured him. Was it important? Artanis wasn't sure.

"Then pay attention to Atar. We've been calling your name since the tree back there." Finrod pointed behind him and, as if to support him, Artanis did not see the tree.

"I am going to introduce you to my half brother," Finarfin said to them. "Neither of you have met him yet," he added when Finrod raised his eyebrows. "I expect you to be on your best behavior, no exceptions." I

He turned a hard stare at his daughter. "I am addressing you, Artanis."

She put on her sweet little Elfling mask. "Yes, Atar. I understand."

"Good," her father grunted. "Don't tell too much about yourself to him or his family, and try to be as scarce to them as courtesy allows."

Finrod looked puzzled, but nodded.

"How much does courtesy allow?" Artanis asked.

"That," Finarfin sighed, "is exactly the kind of question that I don't want you asking in their company. Don't draw attention to yourself."

"Yes, Atar." Artanis didn't ask anymore questions for a while.

"We are still meeting Nolofinwë, correct?" Finwë asked. "And Turukáno will be there as well?"

Artanis tuned her family out, her thoughts drifting back to her nightmare. She was very certain that something would go very wrong very soon.

o0o

The white sandy streets of Tirion stirred up dust under the horses' hooves. Scents of freshly baked bread washed over the faces of the three Elves as they neared the house at the base of Mindon Eldaliéva in the Main Square.

"My lord!"

Artanis ignored the call, thinking nothing of it, but Finrod twirled in his saddle, frantically searching for the sweet voice of a vendë. He clenched and unclenched his fists on the reins, his eagerness taking over.

"Amarië." he breathed. "My lady, don't hide from me."

Laughter resembling wind chimes sounded from one of the shops in the Main Square. Artanis turned to one of the surrounding gardens of the Mindon, seeking the one her brother sook. At the gate of the East Garden, a blond haired Elf was unlatching the gate. She then nimbly skipped across the Square to greet Finarfin's party.

"My lords," she murmured, curtsying hurriedly. "My lady."

Artanis frowned. She wasn't entirely certain that she liked being addressed with the title 'lady'. "Call me Artanis," she insisted. "Please."

Finarfin looked as if he was ready to bury his face in his hands. Instead of the guilty feeling she usually felt, Artanis felt like falling of her horse in a fit of laughter.

"Yes, Lady Artanis," the Elf said. She didn't seem to notice Artanis rolling her eyes in frustration because she soon turned back to Finarfin. "My lord, if I could assist you with your baggage?"

Finarfin dipped his head in thanks. "My thanks, Amarië," he said. "You may put them in front of our rooms." He dismounted and untied his saddlebags. Finrod did the same. If Amarië noticed the uneven stitching on Artanis's bag, she didn't say anything.

When the Elf was gone, Finrod began talking. "Artanis, that was Amarië of the Vanyar. She is not a servant of our House, but a friend of the family. You would like her." Artanis nodded slowly.

"Come. Let us proceed to the stables," Finarfin told his children. "The stable hands probably did not know of our arrival. My brother does not usually inform them of guests."

"Why doesn't he, Atar?" Artanis asked.

"He has many things on his mind and operates many of the doings in Tirion at once, I suppose," Finarfin answered. "The demands of the Eldar here are few, yet there is plenty to keep under control."

Control. The word seemed to echo in her head. What would happen if one of her brothers lost control when he was sparring, and mortally wounded her other brother? Artanis wished not to dwell on that thought too long, so she too dismounted he horse and followed her father.

o0o

The Mindon was tall, and appeared to kiss the clouds that happened by. The house at its base was nearly half as tall. As Artanis followed her brother through the golden doors, her eyes widened with awe. Never before had she seen such a fancy, formal building. From the seasonal ornaments on the massive public dining tables to the silver details on the curtains in the guest bedrooms, Artanis concluded that a lot of time and effort was spent on making this townhouse—her family's—beautiful beyond words.

Her room was next to Finrod's and across from Finarfin's on the second level. She had, of course, thrown her boots off at the top of the crystal stairs only to be shocked by the luxuriously soft carpet that decorated the shiny dark wood floors. The carpets depicted the Valar and the making of Arda, centering around the glorious creation of Varda's stars.

Tapestries hung on the pale golden walls, displaying the builders of the Mindon and the masters of the house. Artanis looked, but she didn't see herself on the walls. There was Finrod, Angrod, and Aegnor, for they had visited their rightful home before. This is my true house, Artanis thought, where there are less trees and theabsentee of woodland birds.

Behind the light wooden door was the sitting room in her chamber. Artanis blinked, confused. Was there actually a suite in the townhouse? What would she ever need a sitting room for? She passed by the two white sofas and fireplace with barely another thought.

Beyond the sitting room was a door of silver paint. Artanis walked through, not taking the care to shut the door behind her. She was met with the sight of her bedchamber, which she took no detailed inventory of. There was a glass door leading onto a balcony looking over the East Garden, and another dark wood door that Artanis assumed opened into a bathroom.

"A bit of an overkill, isn't it?"

Artanis swirled with a smile tugging at her lips. "Very much so. I think I understand Ammë's preference of our cozy little country house."

Finrod was sitting on her bed, his hands clasped in his lap. "I do as well, little sister. I didn't come just to ask you about your rooms, though."

Artanis sighed. "What is it that Atar wishes of us now?"

"We," Finrod told her, "are about to meet our uncle, Fëanáro."


	4. To Challenge A Dauntless Flame

**A/N Chapter Four is up! If you've noticed, the chapters just keep increasing in length. I think it's a good thing.**

**~Alcarinquellin**

**To Challenge A Dauntless Flame **

"Why must I wear this troublesome dress that some dressmaker who doesn't even know me made for me?" Artanis grumbled as she followed her brother down the crystal staircase. The said dress was very form fitting, for the dressmaker had made the thing too small. The material was a dark navy blue with silver stars on the hem. Stardust of silver and gold seemed I dance their way up from the bottom of her dress.

"The dress was made in the best of intentions," Finrod told her. "I'm personally surprised you haven't said a thing about the shoes, yet."

"I was about to go onto those next," Artanis replied crossly, glaring down at the silver sandals. "They're itchy and tight, and between the dress and the shoes, I feel as if I can barely walk."

"My apologies," Finrod said, not quite hiding the laughter in his voice. He ignored his sister's unladylike humph. "Now would you please put on your most innocent looking mask so Atar doesn't scowl at at us when we walk in the room?"

Artanis sighed, trying to summon the face described by her brother. "Why is Atar so sensitive?" she asked. "He's usually so casual with what we do, but right now he's restraining us from having fun."

"Atar has his reasons," Finrod muttered. He saw his sister's inquisitive gaze. "But I don't know what they are."

The guards allowed them entry into one of the formal sitting rooms. The room was elegant with glass vases and silver sofas. Artanis couldn't have cared less, and was rather tired of the careful details in every piece of furniture. On one silver sofa was her father, dressed in a dark navy uniform and gold lining. His hair was carefully braided and a thin golden circlet was placed atop his head. Artanis eyed the headpiece curiously. She didn't know her father to wear any type of jewelry at all, save the red-gold wedding ring Eärwen had given to him.

On the silver sofa across from Finarfin, separated by a platter of cookies and wine, sat a dark haired Elf. He was tall and held his head high with pride. When Artanis looked into his ageless eyes, she could sense a burning fire that raged within him, begging to be released. His attire consisted of black, silver, and gold, and there was a crest on his vest that Artanis could tell he had put a lot of thought into.

"Fëanáro, this is my eldest son and heir, Finrod." Finarfin gestured to Finrod, who bowed low.

"Greetings, Uncle," he murmured. "It is a pleasure to meet you at last."

Fëanáro seemed to take long moments assessing her brother with a critical eye, which Artanis wasn't completely comfortable with. If she were to go by her father's fidgeting that he wasn't hiding so well, he wasn't happy with the silent test either.

After a minute or so, Fëanáro grunted dismissively. "He appears strong enough. He wields a sword, you say? Better than any of your household?"

Finarfin narrowed his eyes. "I suppose. My sons are nearly equal in every value they pursue."

Artanis's uncle grunted again. "And what of the girl? Is she of any worth?"

Artanis felt her lips part in shock, and before she could stop herself, her eyes were blazing and her tongue was throwing words around. "Am I, just a simple little girl, of any worth? Let me tell you something," she hissed, stepping forward and bringing a finger up to point at her uncle. "Gender makes no difference in strength or courage," she said. "I am of the same value of any of my brothers. I will prove it to you, if you so desire. Just command it, and I will show you. Command me, Uncle. I dare you." Artanis stopped, realizing she had drawn closer and closer to her uncle. Her voice was trembling.

"Are you done now?" Fëanáro's voice resembled dangerous fires consuming leagues of land. "Because you, young lady, do not have any right to dare me anything."

Artanis, having used up all of her own fire, nodded. She didn't meet Finarfin's icy stare as she stumbled to her seat on the side of the sofa farthest from him. She bit back the shudders that threatened to throw her. Her hands were shaking, but she held them together in her lap to hide it.

_Weak indeed_, she thought, disgusted. _You, daughter of Finarfin, shall not appear weak in front of a man who thinks you are_.

Artanis felt a steady hand on her knee and glanced sideways to glare at Finrod. She put all her injured spirit behind her gaze, trying to tell her brother to leave her alone.

"Anyway," Fëanáro said with a certain arrogance that almost lit Artanis aflame once more. "Now that you have your children under control, brother, we can get down to business."

"Yes, I suppose we can," Finarfin sighed. "Although, the sole purpose of this meeting was so that you could meet my children." He crossed his arms. "Are we done now? I am tired of your challenging my children and their abilities."

Fëanáro smiled thinly. "Ah, Finarfin, always such a spoiled brat." Artanis, who had kept her eyes lowered, glowered at him under her brows. She felt Finrod bristling next to her, his muscles tensed, prepared to pounce. "You think that you can order me about like you are my better. However, I think it is quite the opposite. I am your elder and your better. Therefore, I command you to leave with your son. Let me have some time alone with your dear daughter here."

Finarfin's eyes snapped. "No. Never. I will never permit you to be alone with Artanis."

Artanis tapped her foot rapidly, trying to gather her thoughts over the argument. She hissed with frustration. Her father was caging her behind a protected wall like a helpless little girl that Fëanáro saw her as. "Atar," she said icily. "Let my dear uncle and I have a nice little...," she fished around for an appropriate word, "conference." When she saw her father's doubtful face, she knew she was winning, and pressed on. "I will not allow him to abduct me, I swear."

"Artanis," Finrod breathed in her ear, so softly that the other two keen pairs of ears could not pick up on what he was telling her. "Do not waste time on this man, and do not be blinded by your stubbornness to prove yourself." When he sensed that he hadn't moved her anywhere, Finrod sighed. "Do as you wish, but beware of a deeper evil that has planted itself in our uncle's heart, for though he may be the greatest of our race, he most certainly is not the truest."

"Leave," Artanis whispered fiercely. "Please, Finrod, just leave."

For a moment, only silence filled the heated air. Then, Fëanáro nodded curtly to Finarfin and Finrod. "Brother, follow your daughter's wishes. It seems there is at least one strong willed Elf in your House."

Finarfin sighed, resisting the urge to hide his face in his palms. "Artanis...," he very nearly mumbled. "If you are absolutely certain that this is the right thing to do—"

"It is," Artanis said stubbornly. "Atar, I'm not a little girl anymore."

Finrod smiled tightly. "If you say so, little sister." He steered Finarfin out of the room, glancing back only once. He was at the threshold, and hesitated for a moment. In that short period of time he threw a heavy glance at Artanis that conveyed all the emotions that he felt for her, and a repeated warning. Then he left.

Silence occupied the space over the untouched cookies and wine. Fëanáro was eying her like a cat waiting for its chance to kill. _Only_, Artanis thought grimly, _cats wouldn't kill right away. He'll toy with me until he tires of me, and then end my life. _

"Dear, child," he began, his voice a quiet murmur. "Would you like some wine?" He held of the bottle of liquid, a menacing smile tugging at his lips. "I dare you."

Artanis froze, containing her anger. _Don't do anything stupid_, she reminded herself. _Wait for the right opportunity to unleash your fury._ Slowly, against her will, she shook her head and scowled. "I am not an idiot," she hissed.

He shrugged, uncaring. "Suit yourself. A coward at birth, a coward at death." He poured himself a glass and took a swig, smacking his lips when he swallowed. He observed the girl before him who was trembling with barely contained rage, and seemed to find the whole thing extremely amusing. "Child," he said, "please get the fact in your head that no matter what you do, I shall always be better. I shall always be the wiser, the stronger, the braver, the faster, and the more intelligent. You are simply unfortunate enough to be of the House of Finarfin. Nothing can be done about your heritage."

"You have no right to insult my father," she said. "He is your own half brother. Why would that make any difference to you? Or does the rift run deeper than I know?" She clenched and unclenched her hands, debating on whether it would be wise to punch her uncle in the face. Finarfin would definitely not approve, so she guessed not.

"Youth, so naive." Fëanáro shook his head, clicking his tongue. "See, child, your father's father first married one of his own, and her name was Míriel. I never knew her very well. Even when I was just come into the world, my fëa was stronger than any before me. My inner strength nearly killed my mother, giving me my mother-name, which I go by."

"Fëanáro," she whispered, "Spirit of Fire."

"Yes," Fëanáro chuckled. "Look, child, you can speak the native language of Tirion. As I was saying, Míriel went to Lórien to rest in peace, where she then passed. My father, Finwë, was never truly healed. So he wed a Vanya by the name of Indis. She is a princess and a queen, ruling both blood realms. From her came your blond haired, Finarfin, and his entire cursed line."

"Thanks for the history lesson," she muttered, irked.

"Child," Fëanáro said. "Go stand in the light of Laurelin." He nodded his head toward the window letting in the brilliant golden light from the Younger Tree.

"Why should I?" Artanis spit. "Why should I obey any command you lay on me? If you hate my father's family so much, why don't you leave us alone?"

"One day you'll understand. Artanis," he said, a warning in his voice. "This is your last chance. I order you, as your better and uncle, to stand in the light."

"No," Artanis replied, crossing her arms and standing up. "I refuse, and if you were wondering, I'll be leaving now." She made to leave, but before she could even make it halfway to the door, she felt an iron grip on her forearm.

"You were warned," a snarl sounded in her ear. A second later, she was yanked backwards, and she stumbled over the sofa. In midair, someone caught her and pulled her hair back, forcing her to look into their face. Artanis gritted her teeh in order not to scream. I am not weak.

"Let me go," she hissed through her teeth. She struggled against his hold, but Fëanáro was older and much stronger.

He laughed coldly. "Silly little girl," he jeered. "Helpless in my arms. I can do whatever I want with you right now. I can even," he revealed a knife hidden in under his sleeve, "kill you. I can torture you until you open that pretty little mouth of yours so I can hear your lovely scream. The Houses of Finarfin and Fingolfin are evil. They wish to destroy my household and my seven sons. But you," he dragged her to the window, "may be of use after all."

Artanis kept her eyes on the glistening knife. It seemed to hunger for her blood, whispering and begging to be fed. She couldn't help but tremble as she thought about dying here, murdered in her own townhouse by her own uncle. Elves weren't supposed to die like this, at the hand of their kin.

Graceful fingers grasped her her loose hair eagerly. "Your golden hair in the golden light of Laurelin is simply too beautiful to ignore. The people of Tirion should worship your beauty, yet they do not. I could capture your brilliance..." Fëanáro leaned closer to her hair, making Artanis flinch away. "Your misfortune is indeed sorrowful," he said, abruptly pulling away. "Now I must leave with haste. If you tell your father of this...," he left the threat hanging. "Well, don't." He tucked his blade safely away.

She swayed on her knees but stayed upright as he released her from his hold and watched him stride out of the room. Her head ached from his incredibly tight grip on her hair. Her anger slowly bubbled away to be replaced by confusion and pain. Yet she was still angry—angry at her weakness and at Fëanáro for his disgust and dismissal of her House.

Suddenly, she could imagine her uncle mercilessly cutting down others who stood in his path. The image of a knife embedding itself in Finrod's chest was all too real. Artanis didn't trust her uncle, nor did she wish to encounter his seven sons.

"Artanis? Are you well?"

She glanced up to see her father and Finrod in he doorway. Her lips curved upward wryly. "You'd be surprised to see how much you can learn from making someone angry," she mumbled. She attempted a step forward and almost collapsed in the process.

"You're drained," Finarfin noted. "Let me carry you to your room, Artanis. I don't need you as a puddle in the hallway for everyone to see."

"I can walk," Artanis muttered, desperately trying to stay on her feet. "Just get me out of this dress and these shoes, and I can walk perfectly well."

Nonetheless, Finarfin picked her up and cradled her in his arms, secure and safe. Artanis buried her face in his shirt. "Atar," she groaned, biting back the tears.

"Oh, Artanis, child, what has he done to you?" Finarfin whispered in her ear.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

"It's okay to cry," Finrod murmured, stepping forward. His hand smoothed her hair. Artanis flinched at his initial touch, the memory of Fëanáro gripping her hair vivid, before slowly relaxing into the caress. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She shook her head. She couldn't live through it again too soon. Later, she told herself. Later I will tell them everything.

"Very well," Finarfin murmured. "I will take you to your chambers."

The last thing she felt before her eyes slipped shut was Finrod's lips brushing her forehead.


	5. Plagued by Memory

**Plagued by Memory**

Artanis awoke to the familiar sound of a crackling fire. Groggily, she slowly raised her eyelids, struggling as if an immense weight stood against her effort. Amber flames danced merrily in her bedroom fireplace, radiated a soft warmth that hugged her shoulders. The sight reminded her of the country house—home. On colder nights, for it rarely grew chillingly cool in Valinor, Artanis would curl up before the hearth in the living room under a knitted blanket with a warm mug of tea. Sometimes Finrod would climb beneath the blanket as well, and those were her fondest memories concerning those nights. Artanis squinted, and realizing her eyes burned, she turned away, rolling under the heavy blankets.

"Artanis, you've awoken." The voice stated the sentence without a tremendous amount of emotion, for good or for ill, but after decades of knowing him, Artanis could sense relief where others failed. She tried to smile, but found that the action made her temples throb. Her dried lips moved and cracked, trying to form words. Glistening eyes met a pair alike to them, concern swimming in a sea of silvery blue. "Do you need water?" he asked gently.

Artanis nodded. At the word "water", the beautiful sound of a singing stream cut into her mind. The clear pureness teased her tongue, taunting her mouth at its emptiness. Then she winced. Her head felt as if the great horse of Oromë galloped upon it like it was a rolling green plain. Just thinking was taking a toll on her body. Suddenly deciding that the faint Light of Laurelin that only barely managed to trickle through the silver curtains was too much for her, she moaned and let her lids fall shut.

"Artanis, you are unwell. What ails you?" Artanis felt a cool hand rest atop her forehead, drawing her awareness to the foreign sweat that stuck to her golden hair. The hand was soothing, once again reminding her of blessed water, and aided in clearing her mind. She managed to block the outer world from her mind, and found that she could feel her uneven breath and rapid breathing. _How odd,_ she thought, in what could only be described as a mental whisper, as if keeping the infant asleep. _I don't recall ever feeling this way before._

Finrod found her pulse and his frown only became deeper. "What did he do to you, Artanis?" he breathed. "Nothing is right—Elves are not subject to fall victim to illness; it is Illúvatar's gift to us. Something is quite amiss. I will get Atar."

Artanis heard him swiftly and purposely stride from the room, and then she shut the world with a mental wall like steel. She didn't want any unnecessary disturbances anytime soon, or ever, unless she changed her mind. Every part of her ached dully, especially her head, which absolutely complained with vigor.

_The man with the knife wore a morbid grin upon his facial features. Strangely enough, Artanis noted that there was not an evil presence about him. She only felt threatened because of his actions. "I can kill you," he seemed to his, though Artanis at first thought that he spoke through her mind. The silver blade was partnered with a surprisingly lovely silver hilt, complete with shimmering blue gems and Elven writing. An ally it should be, Artanis realized flatly, except that it was wielded by a corrupted fëa. The air surrounding the knife sizzled, burning as the blade appeared to writhe with a will of its own, and gleamed as it thirsted for her sweet blood._

_ The man's face grew ever more insane. His lips peeled back into a sneer, and his nose wrinkled in disgust. There was a crazed gleam in his eyes. The dark hair that fell heavily on his shoulders looked as if the poor strands had been rubbed the wrong way on his pillow. Then he began to morph. Ugly black tendrils radiating a dark power raced up his ankles. Every inch of skin that the tendrils touched darkened into a sickly pale green. His eyes still raged with an angry flame, but now they were as black as coal. The fancy robes that before hung around his muscular body were now shed in ribbons to be replacedby a crude grey uniform made for war. Sheaths appeared on a bulky black belt, melting into existence like fangs revealed. Then the figure shrunk several inches, nearly a foot, and all the dark strands of hair fell away._

_ "This is an Orc," whispered a voice, one that sounded very much like herself. She sounded like she was sharing a secret with a close friend. But why would I share a secret with myself? She wondered._

_ "Aren't you a darling little girl," the Orc creature hissed, desire sparking in his eyes. "I'll bet you the Master's head that all the meat on your little bones is mighty tasty!" Without warning, he lunged at her, fingers scratching at the air, so eager was he to bury his dirty teeth into her neck and suck the life from her veins. He held no blade, for during the morphing he had discarded his knife in favor of brutal force. A snarl darted from his lips and pierced her ears like broken shards of glass._

_ Artanis screamed._

"Hush, Artanis, all is well."

She realized that she was thrashing, and her sheets were tangled with her legs. A glance over the edge of the bed informed her that she had long since thrown the blankets and pillows from her way. Strong arms pinned her to her soft mattress by her shoulders. She whimpered weakly, but her movements calmed, and as she quieted only the noise of her erratic breathing reached her tingling ears.

"Finrod?" she gasped hoarsely.

"Hush, Artanis, do not speak." Finrod placed a glass to her lips. She opened her mouth gratefully, allowing the precious water to rush through her parched mouth and down her dying throat. In her eagerness, she let the liquid careen downwards, and came up coughing and gasping for air. Her older brother pulled the glass away hastily and wiped her chin and neck with the sleeve of his shirt, which was fine material, delicately decorated with tiny doves bearing glittering gems. She felt as if she were drowning, yet flying, and bashing her head against solid rock.

Another set of hands (or were they the first?) hauled her upright and leaned her against the snowy white headboard. She winced as her head lightly impacted the hardness. "Forgive me. Artanis, child, what has he done to you?"

"Atar," Artanis whispered, struggling to keep her head upright. "Atar..." She reached up with a trembling pale hand and touched her hair. The golden locks were still soft and silky. "Atar, I hate him." Tears stung in her eyes, but this time she let them fall. No one here cared. They streaked down her pale cheeks, racing one another until they plummeted onto her sleeping gown, which her family must have changed her into.

The tears were salty, and reminded Artanis of the Sea. The crashing waters and crying gulls flashed through her mind. She recalled to pearl white sand soft against her feet. The cool ocean lapped at her toes.

Finarfin wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. "My Artanis, my Noble Lady, I should have never let him near you. What did he do to you? Little one, I beg you to tell me." Artanis buried her face into her atar's robes, smelling the freshness of bread upon the fabric, the lightness of flowers, and sweat of the debate room.

"He doesn't like you, Atar," she mumbled miserably through her pain. "Or Finrod, or the twins, or Ammë, or me. He simply despises the whole lot of us for no reason that I can see. Why does he do so?"

Finarfin sighed, with such a defeated sound in it that Artanis cracked her eyes open. "I will let you know in time. I need you to tell me more, Artanis. Knowledge can be your greatest weapon. He stroked her hair, causing her to suck her breath in to keep from crying out. Her hands closed together in fists, clenching and unclenching, restraining herself from lashing out at her father.

Artanis gulped, suddenly feeling self-conscious. He had told her not to tell and threatened her, though a mystery the threat remained. _He doesn't have to know, _she thought. But what if her family paid for her telling? _He doesn't have to know. He does not have to find out. Don't let him find out. _"H-he… he touched my hair." She sensed her father's brow crease in confusion, but she plowed on. "He pulled a knife on me. He threatened to kill me… well, not really. He only said he could. He made me stand in the light by the window and said things that I don't understand." Her mind wondered, as all Elves' naturally do. "Why did he say all the things he did?" she asked. "Why did he even have a knife?"

Finarfin was silent, and Artanis felt the wheels in his brain working to no avail. "I do not know, child," he finally admitted, "but I refuse to allow you to interact, or even be in the same room as him or one of his sons. Do you understand, Artanis?"

She was frowning. Avoiding them would make her seem like a coward, but she did not especially want to experience something like this again. "Yes, Atar," she said.

"What about Aunt Nerdanel?" Finrod inquired. "I encountered her while nearing the sculpting room today." He set the glass on the dresser next to its matching pitcher, as if he had forgotten that he had been holding it. "She invited us to tea tomorrow at the mingling of the Trees, and I told her that I would have to ask you."

"Well, we aren't going," Finarfin said sharply. He gently released Artanis onto her pillows and stood. "Once you are well, Artanis, we shall analyze you actions and decide whether much of it was very necessary. Perhaps we could've eluded this crisis. Now I will leave you. Finrod, look after your sister, will you?" Finarfin strode from the room, a troubled expression upon his face.

The silence was uneasy to him—foreign, even, because of the unusual tensions and awkwardness hanging indifferently above their heads. The eldest child of Finarfin shook his head slightly as if shaking away a trance, and settled beside his sister. He hesitated only a moment before running his fingers through her hair, removing the knots of gold. _She is beautiful, _Finrod mused, _and I did not see this as clearly before._

There was a bottomless pit in her stomach, and its edges were knowing at her sides, expanding. She dreaded the discussion she and her father would inevitably have. If only she could avoid such a meeting and return to the country house. Ammë was probably fixing her special roast mutton tonight for supper, and she and the twins would be dining alone. If her father sent word to the country house, her mother would worry, and Artanis knew she would be hale again very soon. _Varda, stay his ready command, _she thought to the Valië Queen. Artanis sighed. _When are we going home?_

Artanis felt the mattress compress as her brother sat next to her. She subconsciously leaned into him, drawing strength from him, and he allowed it. She bit her lip as he unknotted her hair by running his gentle, graceful, clever fingers through her golden locks. The motion became soothing after only a few moments, and Artanis realized her muscles were releasing the tension. "Finrod?" she murmured.

The motion behind her head halted, though his touch remained hovering just below her shoulder. "Yes, Artanis?" His lips brushed the upper tip of her ear.

Artanis smiled, her skin tingling at his affection. "Will you sing to me, please?" she whispered, a bit shyly. "The song about the untainted stars?"

So Finrod, smiling, sang her to sleep with his smooth, flowing voice.

_"The stars of Varda are a-glittering,_

_Smiling and gracing the face of the world_

_With the Valië Queen's graciousness._

_Ever beyond the reach of the Kindreds,_

_The stars will always be untouched_

_By the shadows of sins._

_So fear not, young one,_

_The looming darkness, for the light shall forever shine._

_ The stars of Varda are singing tonight _

_In their sweet, soft voices indescribable by words._

_To sleep they shall sing you,_

_And bless you with dreams, _

_So that from evil you shall ever be shielded._

_Fear not, child, the night demons who stalk you _

_In your fitful rest._

_Trust the stars_

_To lull you to a peaceful sleep."_

_ o0o _

Artanis sat at the table several days dressed in a light silk sleeping gown and slippers. Her hair was held in neat braids, done by Finrod's graceful fingers, and glowed in the splendid Light that provided dawn. The light seeped in through the light silver curtains that hung about the magnificent window by the table. Below the window lay the East Garden, for the Lords' private chambers were located in the East Wing of Mindon. Indeed, the East Wing was nothing more than a hallway that curved with the white wall, and the stairs that met the floor spiraled through the center of the building.

The East Garden was small, but the flowers that flourished there made up for the lack of space. It seemed that there were no more than twenty flowers of each kind, allowing multiple vibrant varieties to take root. There were stone benches and small fountains, but Artanis's favorite place to look upon was the single willow in the far side of the Garden. Once the Master Healer confirmed to her father that she was well, her atar would let her explore the Mindon. She intended to visit the willow first.

_It is not as if I will faint, _Artanis thought crossly. In fact, all the pain had decided to flee her body two days before, leaving Artanis feeling barely touched by any illness at all, and enabling her to leave her bed. However, though she was able to think and wonder properly again, her mind was still plagued by flashes of memory. She actually didn't remember much at all, but sometimes a bit of speech or a startling image would come hurtling into her defenseless brain.

Sometimes the memories would attack her while she was awake and busy in her business with the staff or in the company of others. For instance, the day before, when Artanis was speaking to a servant of the Mindon. Artanis scowled as she recalled that hour.

She had woken and crawled out of bed, happy and in good spirits to find that she was pain free. She was getting ready for the day, but when she opened her wardrobe, she found only an empty rack. _Where are my clothes? _She thought, a little baffled. Perhaps Amarië had not placed her saddlebags in the correct location? She didn't recall unpacking her things the day they arrived, so it was very possible. She was about to walk out of her room when she remembered that this was not her country house and she would not be permitted to wander the Mindon in a sleeping gown, set aside that she was a Lady of the building. So there she stood, dumbfounded and lost for ideas on how to escape her predicament.

For a while, Artanis leaned against the windowsill and watched the mingling of the Lights fade into a solid pale gold. A gardener appeared in the Garden below, trimming a rose bush. That was when she noticed the lone willow, standing bent in the corner of the Garden near the small pond. _If only I could get dressed._

Finally, after what seemed like an Age even to a patient Elf such as Artanis, she heard a quiet knock on her door. "You may enter," she said, turning to face the threshold. The door opened soundlessly to emit a tall vendë.

Her hair was black and her eyes were blue like the Garden fountains. She wore the simple uniform of the Mindon staff. In her arms was a bundle of clothes, and from the look of them, they appeared to be elegant dresses of some type. She cringed inwardly. The last thing she wanted right now was a flowing gown to contend with. "I am here to aid you in dressing, my Lady Artanis," she said softly. "If you do not mind my company. My name is Aiwelin." Her voice faltered as she lowered her eyes shyly. "I was the Lady Eӓrwen's maid before she departed."

"Oh," Artanis stuttered, grasping in vain for words. "My thanks, Aiwelin, but I do not wish for such grand attire. Do you happen to know where Amarië put my saddlebags?" _Ammë's maid_, she thought_, and now mine._

Aiwelin curtseyed. "As you command, my lady. I shall bring them to your chambers. Where shall I place your gowns?"

Artanis opened her mouth, about to tell the other to bring the dresses back to wherever they came from. _That would be rude, _she scolded herself. "You may leave them on my bed," she told her. Aiwelin made to leave, but the voice of her lady halted her. "Aiwelin…" Artanis trailed off.

"Yes, my lady?" she turned around, her rain blue eyes dancing in the

"Th—!" Artanis gasped as an image assaulted her like a heavy rock aimed at her head. _Fëanáro. His eyes burned like black coals, yet still orange flame blazed from behind the shadows. She found she was lost in his gaze, and she forgot to swim. She felt herself sinking, though she knew evil things beyond her understanding waited eagerly below, their forked tongues slithering out from between two long fangs._

"My lady? Are you well?" Aiwelin hovered nearby, unsure of what action to take. Artanis blinked and stumbled backwards, shaky on her feet. Through half lidded eyes she saw concern glowing on her maid's face.

"I am fine," she breathed, her heart fluttering nervously. "I am fine. My thanks, Aiwelin. And please, my name is Artanis. You may leave me."

"If you are quite certain, Lady Artanis," Aiwelin said hesitantly. "Lord Findaráto tells me that you are recovering from illness."

"I am sufficiently recovered," Artanis assured her. "Thank you."

Apparently, Aiwelin had felt obliged to report her strange behavior to her father, and doubtlessly Finarfin had informed Finrod. Artanis glanced sidelong at her brother, who was fixingbreakfast in the small kitchen. When Finrod's eyes rose from his cooking to meet hers, she flicked her eyes away. _They are watching me needlessly, _she complained to herself. _Like I am still a child._

_ Perhaps you still are a child, _a second voice whispered. _Or perhaps you act the part._

Artanis shut the voice out.

She didn't mind her brother's company; indeed, she loved him immensely. But need he really, observe her every movement like a hawk waiting for a chance to swoop in for the kill? She had never felt this way about her eldest brother, like he was intruding in on her private life. Artanis didn't appreciate the feeling, but neither was it unwelcome, at least for now. She turned the sensation over in her mind, exploring its faces and rough edges.

"Are you eating?" Finrod walked towards her balancing a plate of simple toast on the back of his hand, for Artanis was having trouble keeping food down. She had found that out herself at dinner last night when she had discovered that she was ravenous and had choked down three platters extraordinarily swiftly. Her brother sat down on a dark wood chair softened by a dark purple pillow alike to the one that upheld her own small weight.

"Well, surely I'd be, if only Elves could eat air," she stated lightly, "We would never starve." She grabbed a piece of toast and finished it in a few bites. The same starving nature returned to her now, urging her to plow through more food. She reached for another slice of toast.

"Slowly," Finrod cautioned. "You want to keep this down."

Artanis nodded, but didn't stop chewing. Just then, the door to the suite was knocked upon.

"Who disturbs the young Lord and Lady of the House of Finarfin?" Finrod called deviously, leaning back in his chair as if attempting to recline. The chair legs toppled backwards, but Finrod stopped his downward fall by sticking his knee beneath the ledge that was the edge of the table. Artanis rolled her eyes. As if the Mindon staff weren't tormented enough serving Fëanáro's household.

"It is I, Amarië," sang the Elf in the hallway. "And if my lord and lady are busy, then I shall leave them to themselves."

"Ai, Amarië," Finrod sang in answer. "My love, you may enter."

_His love, _Artanis realized, startled. _My brother is in love. He never told me. _Then, _How did I never see?_

Artanis didn't know her mouth was agape, and so did not close it when Amarië of the Vanyar swept into the room, her face glowing with a silver light.


	6. Links

Artanis of Tirion6

"Findaráto," Amarië breathed, a golden light on her cheeks. Her eyes seemed to shine with an ethereal glow. Artanis lowered her eyes and blinked when she noticed that Amarië wore not robes or gowns of nobility, nor the Mindon staff uniform. Her feet were bare.

_He is gorgeous this morning._

Artanis frowned. There was that voice again, only different. It had a different ring to it, and yet she had heard it before. _Amarië_. Perhaps she was going crazy, or maybe hearing voices in your head was a side effect of being thrown around by her dear uncle. Or had she said it aloud? Finrod rose and walked to meet Amarië in the middle of the chamber while Artanis remained in her seat, dumbfounded.

"Findaráto," she whispered, taking his fingers between two grasping hands. "I dreamt of you last night."

"Aye," her brother murmured. "And I of you. Your hair was dancing in a lairë breeze, tickling your face, and you laughed. Your voice was tingling like bells, and your dress was yellow like buttercups in their gentleness. I was hardly believing that in the dream you were singing to _me_ as you leapt through a meadow, graceful under Laurelin's glory, beckoning to _me _to join you." He pressed his fingers to Amarië's cheeks as if to make sure that the beauty before him was real.

Amarië of the Vanyar smiled sweetly, her eyes brimming with all the emotion she felt for Finarfin's eldest son. "You dreamt no dream. I saw your tall figure standing proudly against the golden light of dawn, the dew still fresh and shimmering in your hair like jewels. Your eyes were far away and distant, and they failed to see me though I stood not thirty yards away. Your hair was more brilliant yet, and I was not capable of tearing my eyes away. I thought I was looking upon one of the Greater Powers."

Finrod's lips were tugged upwards a bit. "Yet I was no Vala."

Artanis sat silent with shock, her breakfast forgotten. Finrod? _In love? _Somehow she could not turn that over in her mind and understand the implications. The two seemed love-struck and wound forever close, unless something more powerful than their relationship overcame them and ended whatever went on between them. She did not share the feelings and experience that Finrod did, and this puzzled her, for few things differed between the siblings.

Artanis did not wish to belong to someone so soon in her life, someone she would have to commit to and stand by for the rest of her life. Except Finrod, of course, because Elves do not marry so close in blood, nor would she marry her brother anyway. For now she was free.

_I will leave the lovebirds to their doings, _she thought, thinking fondly of Finrod and picturing his face in her mind's eye. She got that special feeling that she got when she was as close to her brother as she could get, or as close as he would allow her to venture.

Before she had even risen to exit, there another voice in her head, in a small void that resided in the back of her mind. Come to think of it, all the voices she noticed were heard in this place. _Do not forsake me, selerinya._

Artanis tensed her muscles. They were communicating and yet not looking at each other at all! He had responded to her thoughts which she had not meant for him to hear. A mortifying thought occurred to her. What if Finrod was offended by her name for them: lovebirds? Her brother was usually very slow to anger unless badly provoked, but few things badly provoked him, although perhaps not all of those things had been properly explored. _I stay for you._

_ "_Amarië, dear, this is my sister, Artanis. I believe you have met before." He stepped away from the Vanya and said the formal introductions. "Artanis, Amarië lives in Tirion nearby the Mindon. She has a bakery on the ground level. Amarië, this is my little sister Artanis."

_Little indeed, _she thought to him, trying to continue exploring this new link. Ammë had explained to her one day during a weaving lesson the link she shared with Finarfin's fëa, as a spouse. Was this the same thing? Artanis didn't think so, for she wasn't bonded to her brother in any way but blood, and she wasn't especially close to him in blood as a rare Elven twin would be. However, she didn't have much knowledge on the subject, so she knew she could be completely incorrect in her thinking.

_There is a library on the main floor, _Finrod thought to her, sounding, Artanis thought, amused. She blushed furiously, for she had not meant for her brother to hear so much that went on in her mind. _You have a gift, _he continued, _to see easily into others' mind, I believe, but you do not wield it, for you know it not. _

_ How do you know? _She didn't try direct her question this time, but thought it like she would think any other thought.

_I read of this gift, _Finrod thought to her, smiling. Amarië gazed at the two quizzically, but waited patiently for an answer. _And I recognized the feel of your mind because of the excellent description in the book. _

_ There are others with this gift?_

_ Indeed. I think the Teleri especially have this talent. _Finrod winked at her. "Would you care to breakfast with us, dear Amarië?" His hands rose to hold her shoulders uncertainly, but she seemed to trust his strong grip.

"I would not mind, but other issues call for me." She reached up to touch his hands lightly. "Do not be grieved, for I shall return. Or," she added, a twinkle in her eye, "you can always visit me at the bakery."

"Nonetheless, I do not doubt that our paths will intertwine again soon," Finrod murmured, laughter evident on his face, though he did not make any mirthful sounds. "Until then, Amarië." His hands fell as he bowed low, in jest or respect Artanis failed to determine.

Amarië dipped a curtsey. "Until then, my lord."

Artanis very slowly, very quietly, opened her door a crack. The hinges appeared to be well-oiled, to her relief, allowing her a silent escape from what she now viewed as an extremely well furnished prison cell. Her legs twitched with restlessness, for confined to her room whenever unsupervised was more tasking than wandering around unsupervised. She simply refused to be caged in her own room.

"_Aiwelin, would you do me a favor?" she had asked after returning from breakfast in Finrod's chambers. Her maid had knocked not long after her personal escort had departed to attend to other duties._

_ "Anything, my lady, unless it lessens your health." Aiwelin crossed her arms and leaned against doorframe casually. Already the other Elf was comfortable around Artanis, and wasn't shy or hesitant any more. To be honest with herself, Artanis was not surprised, for many had commented on her likeness to Eӓrwen. _

_ "I need a spare Mindon uniform."_

Aiwelin had obliged without hesitation, much to Artanis's pleasure. After dressing herself, complete with a jacket and gloves, she had pulled her hair back in a bun and tucked it under a scarf some vendi sometimes wore on their heads. Next she made up an alias for herself in case anyone or anything required her name. "Lótemírë," she whispered, smiling at how she did not resemble the chosen name, at least not in spirit. "Blossom-jewel."

She drew the key to her room from her pocket in her shirt and locked her door behind her. Before leaving she had drawn all the curtains and turned all the lights off save one: a candle on a small table by the door. Of course, to make sure that anyone who did decide to break into her room wanted to leave immediately, she had shoved some pillows under her blankets to appear like her form. No one would want to disturb a sleeping lady.

She walked confidently in the corridors, as though she belonged, and was not disobeying her father and eldest brother. No one gave her a second look, too busy were they to pay attention to one that at first glance appears to be a staff member. When she approached the staircase, she warily watched the floors below, for she was most vulnerable here. The staircase could be seen from every floor, and could be reached from every floor from four directions. If anyone recognized her at all, her entire plan would fail.

She held her act as she began descending. Several staff member bustled past her carrying everything from pots and pans to sewing kits to very high stacks of parchment. Artanis felt out of place; her hands were empty. Earlier, she had considered writing a note for herself, giving her permission for her 'maid' to grab a book from the library. She carried it in a separate pocket from the key just in case. The air was vibrant with plants that were potted on the floors and bright gowns that a few vendi were adorned with. There was a dull roar, like that of a waterfall, and Artanis realized that part of it _was _from a small waterfall that started on the fifth floor. She vaguely recalled Finrod describing the fish and flora that inhabited the falls, and the benches that surrounded it that served for the staff's lunching location. The other part of the roar was from the many voices that chattered throughout the building. Artanis felt annoyance welling up inside of her, and found herself longing for the peaceful silence of the country house. There was little need for lighting in the central hall because of the upper windows that let in the Light of the Trees. Even at night Telperion managed to reach them, and the glowing of the stars. At this hour, the light was brightest.

Artanis breathed a sigh of relief and her eyes gleamed with triumph when at last the staircase branched off at ground level. The staircase wound further yet, delving into the depths of the earth where more storage rooms lay. She took a path nearest to her and walked onto the maple wood floors. Here the scent of fresh bread wafted over her face, reminding her that Amarië made bread for the Mindon and worked on this floor. Perhaps sometime later, when she was permitted, she would follow the Vanya's advice and visit her.

Her eyes rose to seek the sign that would lead her to the library. Luckily, she was at advantage and was unusually tall, even for an Elf. The library wasn't easy to miss, being a large circular chamber with a glass wall separating it from the rest of the level. Above the window-wall were the words _Úmë Parmaron, _Collection of Books. Keeping her expression neutral, Artanis wove her way through a throng of staff to enter the library.

As soon as she stumbled through door and shut it behind her, Artanis felt the overwhelming business fade away. After a full moment, she realized that the room before her was utterly quiet. There was a soft golden glow originating from candles placed every few fathoms. As she craned her neck to follow the dark shelves all the way to the ceiling, wonder and excitement blossoming warmly in her belly, she noticed the lack of flowers and extra colors. _This place, _she thought with gratitude, _is completely another place. _Wherever a wall was void of seemingly endless shelves there was a painting framed with a wonderful gold frame, and occasionally a copper one. What also caught Artanis's attention as her gaze explored the library was the fireplace and the group of Elves reading in a huddled circle in one corner.

She first wandered towards the loveseats and armchairs arranged in front of a hearth. A fire danced merrily in the fireplace, adding to the cozy environment. A finely sewn rug was spread beneath her feet, displaying the Valar and Mahanaxar, the Ring of Doom. Behind this image were Telperion and Laurelin, the Two Trees, providing a brilliant light portrayed by glittering silver and gold threads. On either side of the fireplace were seven tapestries, one for each Valië Queen and Vala Lord. Artanis traced the picture of Manwë's staff carrying glimmering embedded sapphires, made as a gift to him by her people, the Noldor.

She moved on to the nearby Elves. There were seven of them, and their hair ranged in shade from ebony to the brightest silver to a colorful coppery-red. They lounged by the window, holding books in their hands, and seemed completely absorbed in the contexts. Their solitude from each other awed her somehow, and drew her closer. Then Artanis slapped a hand to her mouth to prevent from laughing out loud.

_Ai, the art of Nerdanel is fabulous, _she thought to herself, and reached out to touch a very stony sleeve that folded as if real and belonged to a live Elf. She almost wished that her father had allowed them to attend tea with her aunt after all. Her lips turned upwards wryly. She had not one aunt, but three. She did not recall Findis and Irímë at her first begetting celebration, though Finrod told her that they had been there. _What kind of Elves are my kin? _She wondered, sorrow edging her mind. _Will I see them ever in my immortal life, or will they distance themselves from me?_

_ I am sure they mean no harm, selerinya. _

Artanis frowned. Her brother should not be able to sneak up on her thus; her senses should've been attuned to her surroundings better. Also, how did he recognize her? Was she really that visible through her disguise, or was her disguise that flimsy? Or perhaps Finrod was extremely observant. She pretended not to notice her, pretended to be Lótemírë, only a mere servant of the Mindon and not worth the attention of Finarfin's Heir. Artanis smiled. Her family liked to acknowledge the staff as nearly equals, but the word _servant _had a pleasant ring to it. The echoes of _power. Control._

_Artanis, do not ignore me. _

Perhaps if she just continued her act he would leave her be. She studied the statue in front of her, as if admiring details.

_Artanis Nerwen, yendë Arafinwëo._

She sighed. When her eldest brother called her by her full name, using even her amilessë, she was in trouble. She briefly toyed with the idea of turning, curtseying, and asking _"Yes, my lord?", _but she rather liked where her head was right now, and despised being cowed in fear by his wrath. _Except, _she amended, somewhat proudly, _I do not cow beneath my own kin._

_ Yes, brother?_

"Were you seeking something?" He asked, a hint of authority behind his voice, causing her to turn. "A book, perhaps, for the Lady Artanis?"

A smile plucked at her lips. Her brother was playing along after all. Doubtless he would give her "The Talk" later, though, and she thought she could pass on that. "Yes, my lord." She curtseyed and dipped her head. "A book about mind power, she requested."

"What is your name, maid?" Finrod inquired, stepping nearer. He unslung a satchel that Artanis had failed to notice earlier.

"They call me Lótemírë," she replied softly. "I am recently hired in the Lady Artanis's service." She lowered her eyes, as if shy, as she felt an Elf sweep by her, completely ignorant of her existence, let alone her true identity. _Oh, get to the point, Finrod, _she thought crossly, though not impatiently. Her thought was tainted with mirth, however, which conveyed to her brother her full emotions.

_Patience, selerinya. _"Well, Lótemírë," he said, fishing a book from the satchel, golden tresses falling to hide a smile Artanis knew was there. "I am afraid I might have hindered your search, for I have already checked out a book on that topic—the only book in this library, it so happens." He thrust the book towards her, spine first. "I surrender it to you to deliver it to the Lady Artanis with the uttermost care."

Artanis accepted the book with yet another curtsey. "Thank you, my Lord Findaráto," she murmured, "Though I believe that the Lady prefers being called and referred to as only 'Artanis'. Not that you are not familiar with your sister, forgive me, Lord. You must be very familiar, the Lady being your favorite sibling, as the rumor goes."

_Well then, _Artanis. She attempted to mentally laugh at him, though she did not know if she succeeded or not. "Yet you yourself do not refer to her so. You do not do so in her presence, or address her as such, I trust? I apologize for Artanis, my sister. I am familiar with her, yes, and also with her wrath, which can be extremely perilous at times. Tread with care, or else risk stirring it. Awaken it, and tread even more carefully, or stumble into a black chasm."

Now she only wanted to mentally strangle him. "I will try to remember, Lord. The Lady—I mean Artanis—will desire this book as soon as possible. I have other errands to attend to…," she trailed off, trying to say without words or thoughts that she tired of this conversation.

_So soon?_ He sounded sincerely disappointed, and she felt as if she could physically feel him deflate. "Then I hope I do not endanger you to my sister's said wrath. I am not joking when I warn you of it. Good day to you, Miss Lótemírë." He gave a bow before turning on his heel and making for the door. Somehow, Artanis suspected that the book she now held in her hands was the only thing that Finrod had intended to exit with. She shook her head, smiling, and was about to follow him and ascend back to her room to change when he called her to a halt.

"Oh, and Lótemírë?" He hung on the doorframe, an amused glint in his eyes.

"Yes, my lord?" she asked, not bothering to dip her head or curtsey with acknowledgement.

"Is the rumor you spoke of true?"

Artanis failed to hide a smirk. "Oh yes, my lord. I would never lie to you."

By the time Artanis had climbed the staircase, which was still absolutely swarming with hasty staff, she was tired of the seemingly endless stairs, which reminded her acutely of the shelves in the library. When she had entered the Mindon that first day, she had been blinded by her worries. She didn't even recall the first climb. Now she pondered the purpose of a multiple story house made for the nobles. Why not just gift them with a room on the same levels as all the necessary workshops and other rooms?

It was then that Artanis devised a plan that she would execute tonight. Not a plot to get revenge on Fëanáro, for that time had not yet come, and Artanis had decided that she could wait until the End of the World for a decent chance. Not a plot to overthrow her half-uncle's rule here, no, that thrill was not her desire. What she needed was a plan of rebellion, moreover, a plan to relieve her stress. That was the thrill that she wished for.

It was then that one of the details of her arrival returned to her, several, actually. The first was that she was wearing the same boots that she had kicked off at what she had thought to be the top of the stairs, the platform entry/exit she stood at now. That was not a surprise to her; doubtlessly either a servant had found them and turned them into her father, who proceeded to return them to her, or her family brought them to her chamber themselves while she was sleeping. Finrod did tend to tease her about not being a light sleeper like the rest of the family. The other detail was her thoughts about the strange creatures—the Orcs, she supposed, if she was to trust that voice. The ones with the swords that begged to kill.

_Just as Uncle Fëanáro's knife hungered for my blood._

_ What if Uncle Fëanáro lost control, as he very nearly did in that hour?_

She shuddered as she answered her own question. _Tirion would be divided in blood and loyalty. _She related to her situation a word that she had found in a history book telling the tales of Time before the Firstborn awoke in Endor, a place she had not laid thought to for a while. It was an odd word, one that she had hoped never to place in the same sentence with Tirion. _War._

Upon entering her chambers, Artanis immediately dressed out of her staff uniform and stashed it safely in a safe she had found in the back of her closet. She held the key to her safe in a pocket to one of her tunics. Then she lay down on her bed, now wearing one of her casual attires, and closed her eyes. Outside her door were the noises of the Mindon, and even here she could not block them out. But she tried to clear her mind of everything, she had to, if what she wanted to attempt was to work.

Finally, she approved of her silent mind and began to grope around in what felt like darkness, searching for a link that she did not know existed, or if she could sense it at all. If there was a link, and she was mostly sure that there was one, she did not know its feel, only that there was a place in her mind where she heard the voices. So she eventually settled on simply calling for him. _Finrod? Toronya, are you there? Is this working, because I would feel so foolish if it is not. _

She waited in the silence that followed, the words echoing hollowly in her head, as if she were standing in a dark forgotten cave. Finrod probably hadn't heard her, and then she knew that this was not going to be easy. Of course, there was always that book. Sighing, she rose from her bed and walked to where she had left her book—the library's book, really—on the dresser top.

_I am here, selerinya, though you will always be foolish and rash and reckless to my eyes._

Artanis halted in her tracks, grinning from pointy ear to pointy ear. _Thank you for the book. Lótemírë tells me that she had the misfortune of running into you at the library. _

_ My favorite sibling, Artanis? Well, I will not deny this rumor's truth._

Artanis laughed, mirth shaking her slender body. When she calmed, she asked, _Finrod, is the Mindon busy at night?_

Her brother's reply seemed a little confused, but truthful nonetheless. _There are the guards requested by our half-uncle, yes, and perhaps the occasional maid or whatnot. Why?_

That was all she needed to know.

The hall was quiet, though not an eerie quiet, like the quiet she imagined belonging to a tomb. This quiet with like a blanket, lulling the Elves who slept in the Mindon to a peaceful sleep. In the distance, she could faintly hear the almost nonexistent boot steps of the patrolling guard. Artanis fingered the tiny heavy ball that would serve as her distraction. Now was her chance.

Silently, she snuck down the corridor towards what she knew to be the nearest guard post. After observing the guards for a small time, she found that they were posted at regular intervals: one beside the plant, beside the pool, beside a door leading to who-knows-where. They were not placed far from each other, and so she had to be careful not to be caught in a trap. The guard drew near. Mustering all her strength, which even to Elven standards exceeded regular, she hurled the ball down a narrow staircase that led to a cellar.

The noise echoed, repeating over and over, rolling back on itself, and screaming with the voice of metal. Artanis gritted her teeth, suddenly realizing that anyone who slept nearby could be awoken as well. She needed to leave _now. _

She swung nimbly over the railing and hung by the bars supporting it, following the plan she had laid in her mind and had committed to memory. Pulling herself towards the nearest exit leading towards the main staircase, she avoided the sight of the hurrying guards that she could hear. _Why would Uncle Fëanáro require guards in the Mindon, anyway? Surely there are other occupations for these Elves. After all, no one will hurt anyone here—well, except Half-Uncle himself. But he would not request guards for himself._

Artanis hauled her slender frame onto the staircase, not breaking a sweat from exhaustion nor nervousness. Her motions portrayed one who was confident in her every decision. When she was at last where she desire to be, Artanis crouched upon the stair railing, that which continued from the second floor. She was wondering if she should climb higher, and risk the attention of more guards. She knew not their numbers, for she had not thought to ask. Nay, this height would serve her purposes for now.

Smiling and biting back a whoop, the noble and highly respected Artanis daughter of a Teleri princess and Noldorin prince willed herself to slide. And slide she did. She leaned her weight into the descend, and rejoiced when she felt her body move. The balls of her feet pumped every once in a while to increase the momentum, though it was hardly necessary. The rest of her swayed to balance herself as one who had years of experience would do. Artanis almost laughed out loud under Telperion's faint glow, moving with increasing pace into the light breeze. This was very nearly as heartening as a sprint through the forest. Perhaps this place held some hope for her after all.

She was in high spirits until she felt her movements halt abruptly. Her mind was shaken from its fantasy, forced brutally to return to now, and was shoved to face her situation. _Caught. _She was caught.

"I thought I might find you here," hissed a voice, a voice that Artanis had hoped she would never have to face again. Pride took over, and before she could stop herself her head had turned to face her captor, silver-gold hair whipping out behind her like the loose branches of a willow.

Coal black eyes met hers, and soon their blackness was consuming her vision, imprisoning her to a world of night.


	7. Half-Cousins

**Half-Cousins**

To her relief, the dark clouds cleared quickly enough, storming angrily from the center of her vision. She blinked, and the first thing she noticed was that Telperion's light was utterly denied this pocket of space. If there hadn't been the small glowing gem hanging from the ceiling, a stone mined from the rich soil of the land nearly right outside the gate of Tirion, no doubt, darkness would claim this entire room.

Artanis knew her night vision wasn't terrible, but the faint light was still very helpful. This chamber appeared to be a sitting room of types, with sofas and a hearth much like her own. Tapestries and rugs decorated the walls and floor, and an additional side table held magnificent minute carvings of Elves laboring in the forges. There was no fire in the fireplace to get warm by. Instead, Artanis curled in on herself on the cushiony chair she found herself in.

_Why am I here?_

She sent the thought to the room, hoping that perhaps an answer would come from one of the outlying shadows. After a moment, she had concluded that none would reply. The silence settled thickly like dust, and no matter how much she disturbed it, Artanis failed to clean the grime completely away. _Half-Uncle Fëanáro! He brought me here! What does he want with me now?_ Her distrust rang throughout her mind, making her aware of how alone she was. _Is he holding me prisoner in my own house?_

Suddenly, she realized that her expedition that night had been quite careless, and now she was in an even deeper hole. Eventually the guards would have caught her, she reasoned, but she hadn't intended to get kidnapped by her Half-Uncle.

Artanis's keen ears twitched as they alerted her of muted footsteps outside the door to her left. She protectively inched backwards in the chair until she could occupy no more space. Defiantly, she heated her emotions, urging them to light her eyes like a fell fire. Her chin was raised high. _He shall not claim me so easily._

The door opened quietly, causing Artanis's frown to deepen further. She had not expected a normal entrance from her half-uncle. If anything, she had imagined a well-full of rare blossoms falling from the ceiling and Fëanáro sweeping in with a flourish and a bow. But to her great surprise, and perhaps relief, if she would admit it to herself, she did not see her dark-haired half-uncle standing in the door. Nay, not her half-uncle at all.

The first thing Artanis noticed about this Elf was her stunning red hair that was worn long to her waist. _Well that settles who this is, _she thought wryly. The Elf's ruddy complexion was unneeded in aiding Artanis figure out her visitor (or was she her captor?) was. "Hello, Half-Aunt Nerdanel," she whispered, the livid rage dying in her eyes, though a small bit still brewed in her soul. "Helping my _dearest _half-uncle kidnap me, I see."

Nerdanel seemed strangely baffled and flustered. "He is your _only _half-uncle," she managed to slip past her lips. "Oh, my dear Artanis, what has he done? Why are you here?" She hesitantly stepped forward, one hand reached out.

_Do not touch me! _Artanis screamed into a string she mentally found, that which connected Nerdanel's mind to her own. All her anger, fear, and suspicion were thrown viciously into the thought.

Nerdanel's hand fell limp. _Please, titta-quen. I will not harm you." _

Artanis glared and searched the red haired Elf's face, looking for any scrap of intention to hurt. She found no feeling but sorrow, and she grudgingly allowed Nerdanel closer. _Where is he? _She hissed. _I want to claw his throat out with my bare hands and have Námo reincarnate him so I can strangle him! _The color drained from her face as she realized that she was telling this to Fëanáro's wife. Her head dropped a little, as if ashamed. _Forgive me, _she thought numbly. _I...I guess I truly hate him, no offense to you. He and I have had some rough experience with each other previously—and I am not looking forward to him making a royal appearance. _Then, shyly, _I did enjoy your sculptures in Úmë Parmarion._

She had to stop herself from flinching when she felt smooth hands lift her chin. _Do not be afraid of me. I understand that my husband can be quite rash and shocking at times, and he did seem rather furious when he returned from a meeting with you and your family. There is no reason for shame, titta-quen, for sometimes I often think those thoughts myself. The important thing is that we are able to channel that energy into something that won't force us to face the wrath of a loved one—or even a stranger. _A soft smile graced her face. _I thank you for your compliment. I base all my sculptures off of Eldar I see here in Tirion, or in Alqualondë if I visit._

Artanis settled down. "Can you help me get out?" she asked quietly.

Nerdanel nodded. "I will see what I can do. Wait here for just a bit."

Artanis slumped. She hated having to rely on someone for aid in escaping—Fëanáro's wife no less. _Therefore, _she concluding, welcoming the thrill of a daring adventure once more, _I escape on my own. Simple._

Except, she realized a moment later, this really wasn't going to be quite so simple after all. She hadn't the slightest clue where in the Mindon she was, for the Valar's sake—if indeed she was even in the Mindon at all. At first, she had thought that she had remained in the Mindon because the sitting room arrangement was so similar to her own, but Fëanáro could've easily gotten hold of the furniture. For all she knew, she could be locked in the High King Finwë's own house!

_He is not going to hurt me if I accidentally hide in his bedchamber, _she tried to convince herself. From his letters, Grandfather Finwë seemed nice enough, yet still expressed an air of formality and stiffness. _Just from words on a page! I want to be able to convey my personality like that. I wouldn't have to use my voice, and people would still be able to imagine it leagues away. _

So once she struggled up the courage to do so, Artanis slipped from the room using the door she remembered Nerdanel leaving with. She truly did not wish to end up in Fëanáro's personal chambers. He did not seem like the forgiving type. Fortunately, luck (or perhaps sharp Elven memory) was upon her. Soon she stood in a narrow, carpeted, dark hallway. Artanis frowned. Walking one way would lead her deeper into these cursed halls, and the other would lead her out. To her right, there were three doors on each, and on her left, there were six doors on each side. Either Fëanáro slept very near to the way out, or very far away. Suddenly, Artanis realized the answer to her problems, and snorted at her ignorance.

_Fool! There is a window at one end of the hall and a door on the other. The way is obviously to my right. _Confidently, she crept towards the door. A faint _central Mindon! _She thought excitedly, causing her to hurry. Any moment, one from Fëanáro's sons, or Valar forbid, Fëanáro himself, would grab her by her shoulder and whirl her around. There would most likely be a deadly smirk on the Elf's face as well.

The doorknob was cool under Artanis's hand. Slowly, she turned it and stepped inside.

This was most certainly not Central Mindon. Artanis bit back a groan and slowly backed away from the door. She felt completely numb, though her heart raced inside and her mind was reeling. She had to get out. Now. But her body was frozen! They would get her and turn her in to Fëanáro. They would torture her in a dungeon cell and she would never see Finrod again. They would slowly chop off her parts one by one until she was no better than a lowly worm.

_A worm. Ha! They don't even have fëar, do they? I should probably look that up in the library…_

"Artanis!" a hushed voice spoke to her. _Quickly, come in. Your Half-Uncle is coming for you._

The voice was unfamiliar, and therefore Artanis didn't trust it. The thought voice was harsh, and though it offered a hiding place, there didn't seem to be a bit of comfort in it. _Who are you? _she demanded. A whirlpool had taken over her mind, and her thoughts were whisked violently away from her whenever she tried to near them. There was always a roar in her mind, screaming at her to move, that someone was going to hurt her. But her limbs stubbornly refused to respond.

Suddenly, strong hands grasped her slim stomach, surprising a gasp from her mouth. A sweaty stench washed over her, along with that of soot and a strange metallic one. However, beneath all the chaos that reminded Artanis of fire—nay, of a forge, there was a scent that was very familiar to her. Far too _familiar_.

"Ai, Nelyafinwë! How did the child escape?' inquired a smooth, velvetl6y voice. Artanis suppressed a shudder.

"Atar, I did not know of the girl," the voice in the room exclaimed. "She simply wandered inside, and then backed away and stood frozen on the threshold." She could hear a wooden chair scoot back and soon an Elf appeared in the door. His hair was a very dark red, though there were strands of a deep brown that seemed to consume some of the scarlet fire. Indeed, his hair glinted like hungry flames in the flickering light. "I am sorry, for I know not how this misfortunate event occurred."

The young daughter of Finarfin and Eӓrwen could practically see the grim face of her half-uncle. "Where is your mother?" he asked the man in the door.

_Aunt Nerdanel! _Alarmed, Artanis did not register the odd attachment she felt for her half-aunt. Her only thoughts were to spare her from what she assumed would be a talk from Fëanáro, probably one of "The Talks". _Aunt Nerdanel, _she tried again, desperate. _Fëanáro… he is coming for you. Ai, wherever you are, if you can hear me, flee. I fear he is wrathful._

"I believe I saw her leave our hall," the other Elf replied, Nelyafinwë, she remembered. As if from far away, she managed to connect this to one of Grandfather Finwë's letters. Oddly, this particular letter seemed to pierce the fog in her mind, and for a brief moment she could think clearly, though only of the letter.

_Dearest Artanis,_

_You are very young, and I fear you do not recall me, for never have your beautiful eyes come to visit Central Tirion, save perhaps when you were barely born. I seem to remember a certain baby who clung dearly to her mother, the wonderful Princess Eӓrwen of the Teleri. Blessed you are to carry her blood in your veins, and Indis, my Vanyarin wife, tells me this may aid you in your future, which I can perceive not. _

_ I am you grandfather, little one, Finwë. I will not flaunt my titles to you, for that would be very unbecoming of a good king to his people. Yes, I am King Finwë. I am the High King that rules over all._

_ Let me tell you a little about my family, and perhaps you can reply with a description of yours. I had a wife before Indis, and her name was Míriel. Her eyes were starlight, and her hair the shadows, and I believe none shall see again the like of my Serindë. She bore me one child before she passed, and the child was her bane, for it was the draining of her spirit during the birth that caused her to waste away. Fëanáro, she called this child, and Spirit of Fire he shall be. _

_ Nerdanel miraculously won my son's heart, where all failed before her. I fear my second marriage was unwelcome to my son, but Indis provided healing that Fëanáro could not. Over the years, seven sons has the daughter of Mahtan born to the Prince. The eldest is Nelyafinwë, who I love greatly. Between you and me, perhaps I favor him just a little over my other grandsons, but they needn't know I told you this…_

Nelyafinwë. So this was him. Artanis attempted to grab the rest of the letter from its wandering, but the rest of the words had strangely evaporated, and the fog reclaimed most of her. Through her eyes, she saw the Elf Nelyafinwë coming closer. She saw his lips moving, but his voice did not reach her ears, however much she strained them. Her skin tingled as she sensed her feet stumbling forward, and that the hands had removed themselves to her arms. Fëanáro's—Prince Fëanáro's—chest vibrated against the top of her neck, and so she knew that father and son were conversing together. She desired greatly to hear their words, but as much as she tried, the sound would not return to her.

_Ai, have I turned deaf? Never have I heard of this predicament, save in a child's myths. _Panic flared in her belly, twisting her flesh wickedly, and urging her to double over and retch. But the hands held her steadfast. She remained upright and standing.

Then, very loudly, "Go to Nelyafinwë, daughter of many bloods!"

Time resumed to its normal speed, if it had ever slowed at all. Cringing at the mildly wrathful order, Artanis twisted from her half-uncle's grasp, which released her rather uncaringly. Down, down, down came the floor, faster and faster. She tried to bring her hands beneath her to break her fall and to push herself over, but they were flailing beside her uncontrollably. Just as she was closing her eyes against the cruel, unforgiving flooring, Artanis jerked to a halt. The fabric on the collar of her tunic pressed tight against the front of her throat.

"Careful, little cousin," she heard Nelyafinwë neutrally caution her. "I don't need a bloodbath to mop and a broken nose to splint." He hauled her to her feet where she swayed unsteadily. "Come. Atar has requested me to keep you in my bedchamber while he is away."

Without thinking, she followed her older cousin into the room, which turned out to be another sitting room. The chamber was furnished with layered reds and dark wood. Three doors branched off from this room, not including the one she had just stepped through. On one chair in front of a dancing fire was another Elf.

At their noiseless entrance, the Elf set down his book. "Nelyafinwë, Atar has brought us a charge." It was not a question, but rather a statement. Some of his long, dark brown hair that very nearly bordered black hung in two loose braids beside his face while the remainder of his hair cascaded down his back as if running water.

"Aye," Nelyafinwë replied. "I know not her purpose here, only that we are to hold her until Atar commands us to do otherwise." He gently steered Artanis towards a loveseat, and she did not protest, much to both of the Elves' brutal shock. She sank into the cushion without complaint. "Artanis," he addressed her softly from behind her seat, "I am regretful that I startled you. I meant no harm by my sharpness."

_Yes you did._

Unbeknownst to her, Nelyafinwë blinked, as if surprised and then puzzled. But he continued nonetheless. "I only ask that you consider forgiving me. Perhaps time will mend this unfortunate first encounter."

She could not sense any falseness in his voice, which caused her muscles to at relax slightly.

The Elf with the book grinned. "We've got a curious one, eh? Good; we like those. They remind me of my brothers."

"Or perhaps your brothers remind you of curious Elves," Nelyafinwë interjected.

Nelyafinwë's brother ignored him as only a brother can. "I, curious cousin, am named Canafinwë. I am the second oldest son of my father, Fëanáro. I believe that I am an accomplished bard and musician, or so am I told and praised, but you can decide for yourself in just a minute. My favorite color is gold, the color mentioned in my amilessë, _Macalaurë. _My favorite food are Indis's delightful honey buns, truly you should taste them one day, and my favorite instrument…" His mouth stayed open, and his eyes looked as if they searched his mind for the answer.

Nelyafinwë took advantage of his brother's loss of words. "She doesn't want to hear about you, you oaf!" he said, rolling his eyes. "If anything, she probably wants to curl of in the corner of that couch and fall into a dreamless sleep."

At this, Canafinwë glanced warily at a crystal on the wall whose light was a silver that was slowly fading to a pale gold. "Ai, the hour is late," he murmured. "Her family will miss her soon."

_Finrod! _She remembered with a start. Groggily, she racked her mind for the thread that connected her mind to his. It did not take long to locate the thread, which to her felt to glow a radiant gold, much like the one on the wall. _Finrod! _She tugged at the thread, and sent her message of help through it. _It is Half-Uncle. He has me in his hall—the room at the end—with his two eldest son. Ai, Finrod, I fear for Nerdanel, for she promised to aid me and has not yet returned. Half-Uncle went after her, I think._

"Atar will know what to do," Nelyafinwë told his younger brother with strong conviction. "And if not, we shall hide her here."

Canafinwë's eyebrows rose. "In our room?" he asked. "If she is found here, we will be to blame." Artanis felt a bitterness towards the Elf, who aided in her kidnapping and wanted no blame in it.

But Nelyafinwë shook his head, fiery hair dangling. A sadness gleamed in his eyes. "Nay, bother," he said, "I believe they will blame us anyway, and we will be to blame as well. Denying our actions will not make it any better, for our kin cherish honest truth."

Artanis was beginning to adapt Grandfather Finwë's idea about liking Nelyafinwë over his brothers, though she had only met one. However, she wasn't certain that she liked her oldest cousin very much as it was. There was a buried pride that his fëa hid from her at the present, and she doubted that she would not regret brushing paths with this quality.

Canafinwë sighed. "As always—nay, of the time—you are correct, brother," he acknowledged. He turned to Artanis and bowed his head. "Forgive me, cousin. I had forgotten myself. Nonetheless, I will ask if you if desire a song. I was not lying when I informed you of my passion for music."

Artanis considered this. She had heard from many Elves that Canafinwë's music was very advanced and connected to the soul effortlessly. Even Finrod had grudgingly admitted that he admired Canafinwë's art, though he knew not that he was related to this excellent bard at the time. There was also a nagging curiosity that had been nipping at her mind for some time now. Shyly, she whispered, "Do you know the Themes of the Great Music?"

Canafinwë gaped at her for a moment before regaining his composure. "T-the Great Music," he stuttered. "Valar, if only! I would be quite blessed indeed if my ears were fortunate enough to hear that Music in full. Alas, I am not so lucky. I do not believe that any save the Powers themselves have heard the Music in every detail from the discord of Melkor to the sorrowful theme of Ilúvatar." He smiled sadly at the girl who drank his words eagerly. "If I may have the honor to perform a lesser song to my lady, though a magnificent one no less?"

Artanis nodded without hesitation, bringing a smile once more to her cousin's face.

"Brilliant!" he exclaimed merrily. "Do you have a preference, little lady?" His pale hand reached for a harp that Artanis had failed to notice earlier. She shook her head. In her childhood, Artanis had heard little music besides the compositions by her own family, or a Telerin Elf visiting her mother. The Telerin songs had always been very odd to her, though some words were very similar to the corresponding ones in Quenya. "You, my brother?" he asked when Artanis had answered.

Nelyafinwë shook his head, a wry grin on his face, his arms folded on the back of the loveseat that Artanis occupied. "Nay, brother, you may choose." A twinkle appeared in his ageless eyes. "Although I have wondered what you keep randomly muttering about at dinner, or whenever you emerge from your chambers."

Canafinwë glared at his brother. "As if you don't spend straight weeks locked behind your door!" he retorted. "At least I do come out for dinner!"

"Most of the time," his older brother corrected him. "You come out most of the time."

Canafinwë snorted disbelievingly. "Do not believe his nonsense, Artanis," he whispered to her. "The fool is blind to the outside room because he locks himself in his rooms for most of his life!"

"Liar!"

Artanis eyes the two brothers, her cousins. They didn't seem so different from Angrod and Aegnor when they bickered playfully. Perhaps these Elves were not so terribly unlike her own family as she had once thought. Angrily, she shook these thoughts from her head. _They are dreadfully different, _she thought to herself, disgusted. _They are my captors, for the sake of the Valar!_

She thought about speaking sharply to them, playing the mother, but almost immediately decided against it. Perhaps if she quietly made her way towards the door, she could escape unnoticed. _Her family will miss her soon. _Yes, Finrod would be checking her room right now. Just then, Artanis wondered at her actions. She rarely locked her door, but had she done so last night? Had she thought that her family would pronounce her missing just because her door required a key? Surely there were duplicate keys accessible to the nobles of the Mindon, ones that her father and Finrod could use. Subtly, she checked the pocket in her tunic for the key. Her fingers met only silky material. _Mayhap my room is unlocked, _she thought, trying to be optimistic. To her ears, she was failing rather miserably. If anyone was an optimist, Finrod was, and second to him was Aegnor. Though she was patient, Artanis tended to look at things as either fair or despairingly hopeless. Rarely could she muster enough creative energies to improve a despairingly hopeless situation.

No, her family would be able to break into her room even if it were locked. Someone in Tirion had to have a collection of pick locks. Artanis herself owned a set, but she had left them in the country house. Reflecting on her decision now, she deeply regretted that course of action. _The twins will search my room when Ammë's not looking…they'll find them and hold them to their advantage! _Her muscles allowed a small smile as her Elven memory vividly recalled another nighttime adventure, one that seemed an eternity away in time.

_The air was cool against her hands, which appeared to tremble slightly in the silver light of the Eldest Tree and Varda's stars. Artanis stubbornly clasped them together, although there was no one accompanying her to see them. Her sharp senses were on their uttermost alert, Artanis could feel every vibration in the air, every change of scent on the light breeze, and heard every shift in the peaceful quietness. The wooden walls were terribly hard and flat pressed against her backbone, and that kept her shifting restlessly in her crouched position outside of Aegnor and Angrod's room, a woven basket waiting patiently beside her._

_ Again, about five minutes after she had first checked, Artanis shuffled closer to the oaken door. Only the incredibly soft breathing of two Elves welcomed her prying ears. This was perfect. Quietly, Artanis rose gracefully to her feet, not quite grimacing from stiff muscles that had grown accustomed to the position. She grasped the handles and stopped. The hinges hadn't creaked, right? She had made sure to oil them while the twins were out tending to the horses. She continued to open the door and breathed a sigh of relief. No, the hinges kept her secret._

_ On silent bare feet, the daughter of many bloods crept into the room that was filled with hushed breathing and sighing winds, the basket held in her hands, its contents staying obediently quiet. The window between the beds was open, allowing entry to the outdoor air that smelled of wilderness. The dark green curtains danced with their nightly visitors. Beneath two woolen blankets on either side of the window were two woodland themed beds. At their heads were extraordinary plush pillows that were sold at top price and almost limited to the purchase of nobles, on the market exclusively at the market of Alqualondë. The House of Finarfin, however, received these gifts for absolutely no price at all, save that they treat the Telerin Princess with the utmost respect and honor._

_ Two golden crowned heads rested on the light tan pillow cases, not twitching except for some unruly strands of hair that desired to fly in the breeze. Artanis grinned, anticipation pumping through her veins. This was going to be exceptionally fun._

_ The next morning, Artanis woke earlier than usual and was the first to the breakfast table. As the hours past, Artanis read a fascinating article about raising obstinate foals while the rest of her family trickled into the chamber to break their fast. Eӓrwen sleepily prepared their morning meal while Finarfin drowsily scanned the weekly report from the center of town. Finrod strode inside, quite awake, in fact, and promptly sat down and began to write a new composition apparently inspired by his dreams. Artanis eyes this curiously from a sidelong gaze, but said nothing of it. Finally, when Artanis was convinced they were in the washroom frantically scrubbing the upper portion of their body, Aegnor and Angrod stumbled into the room looking as if they were bears just awakening from a winter's hibernation. _

_ Eӓrwen was just delivering a bowl of fresh strawberries drizzled with honey to the table when she opened her mouth to say "Good Morning!" to her twin sons, but their faces forced her speechless. Alarmed, Finrod saw the clay bowl in her shaking hands begin to fall. Luckily, his reflexes were blessed and with a swift dive, he brought his family's favorite morning dish to safety. However, when he turned to see what had caused his mother to freeze like a bubbly summer stream cruelly plunged abruptly into a deathly winter, his eyes lit up with barely contained humor. Finarfin raised his eyebrows at his sons, questioning them with his stare, but laughter inevitably on his features all the same. Artanis carefully wore a curious mask over her extremely mirthful emotions._

_ "Well," Eӓrwen said, dumfounded. "It seems at least one someone was busy last night while the rest of us slept."_

_ "Aye," Finarfin agreed. "Just what have my two dutiful sons been scheming? If your plan was to make a joke of yourselves, you've most certainly succeeded." He took a sip of his hot morning tea. "Care to explain yourselves? Angrod? Aegnor?" _

_ The twins displayed identical puzzled faces. "I don't understand, Ata," Angrod said first. "What are you talking about?"_

_ Aegnor nodded. "Whatever has you troubled, Ammë, Atar?" Artanis choked back a snicker, and swiftly covered it up with a sudden lunge for her water and drained the glass._

_ "Enough of this nonsense," Finarfin said sternly. "Perhaps, my sons, you should examine yourselves in a mirror—each other would do fine as well, though."_

_ Baffled, the two younger sons of the House of Finarfin spun to face each other, apparently for the first time that morning. Artanis counted herself lucky, for the plan would've been ruined if they had seen each other before they made it to the dining room. Blue eyes burst into flame as they took in splashes of dusty rose pink and daffodil yellow. A large violet puddle claimed the top of each Elf's head, and their tips were _

_Then, Aegnor and Angrod both turned with fierce speed, two pairs of eyes flashing dangerously. "Artanis!" they had both screamed, infuriated._

_ Finally releasing a flood of laughter, Artanis grabbed a handful of strawberries and fled outside, leaving her shocked family to stare after her._

The memory was quite fair in her mind, as silver bells singing in the wind are to a brook's dancing waters. Thinking of Aegnor and Angrod made her hurt, though. Here she had no one to pull pranks on, except Finrod, but she never pranked Finrod. _Ai, to go home, _she lamented to herself.

Nelyafinwë and Canafinwë had not paused their well-full of insults despite her brief lapse. For some reason unidentifiable at the present, this annoyed Artanis greatly. "Would you please _be quiet!"_ she exclaimed loudly.

To her surprise, the two brothers paid no heed to her. _Why would they? _She asked herself. _They must be dreadfully accustomed to this. After all, with six brothers, one must adapt to survive… _No, Artanis was not jealous of Neltafinwë's large family at all. Well, if her voice couldn't draw their attention away from each other, she could always go about it a different way. All her life she had been raised against this technique, but in Artanis's young mind, this technique was also much more effective ninety-nine percent of the time. Standing, she crossly stalked over to her eldest cousin and yanked _hard _on his tunic sleeve.

Nelyafinwë spun on her so fast even her Elven senses could hardly keep up with it. "What?" he snapped.

"Please be quiet," Artanis replied, glancing between her two cousins. "Both of you." She imagined herself speaking like her ammë always did, requesting and ordering with the same words. Whether or not this made any effect on what she said, she did not know, for Nelyafinwë and Canafinwë had both turned their glares on her.

"Why should we listen to a little girl, half-cousin?" Canafinwë sneered. "You can't even obey your father's orders to stay rested inside your chambers. Obviously you have no regard for your own safety or respect for your father. Why, I ask, should we trust orders issuing from your mouth?"

"You will take those words back," she hissed, feeling the familiar feeling of hate rise in her throat. This stunned her, but did not show it as a weakness. The fact that she was experiences these emotions yet again was troubling her. Elves were supposed to be endlessly _merry _creatures, by the Valar. Why must strife extinguish the joy so greedily? Somewhere in the back of her mind, Artanis knew she should fight this. But her rage was easily overpowering her strength of will, strong as it was. _Finrod was right, _she realized. _I am victim to my own wrath._

"I will not!" Canafinwë snarled, baring flawless white teeth. Even angry his voice was musical.

Nelyafinwë rolled his eyes. "Peace!" he demanded.

Both arguing Elves fell silent and glowered at him. Artanis felt frustration spawning in her stomach, jealousy even. It wasn't fair that Nelyafinwë should be able to silence two passionate Elves where she required physical force.

"Someone is at the door," he continued.

Then, Artanis felt in her mind: _Artanis! Artanis, there you are, selerinya!_


End file.
